


A Thousand

by tea_petty



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-29 00:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20072923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: Asra uses the mundane medicine of repetition to try and restore his apprentice's memories.





	A Thousand

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty
> 
> Featuring aoi-hina's apprentice, Jenna. This was done as a commission for her.

Broken lines.

That’s what Jenna saw when she looked at the palms of her hands, the feathered grooves embossing her skin like lines on a map. They were almost blanched out against it in the golden bath of sunlight that warmed her, filtering in the lone window of the shop. Through the slate of light, speckles of dust floated in the air, giving a sort of weightless effect, like the whole thing was taking place in the depths of a pool of honey. 

Placing her hands on the soft, violet table cover, Jenna watched the lines disappear against the sun warmed fabric. This table had helped shed light on the hazy ambiguity of countless futures. She herself, along with Asra, and countless of other magicians nestled in the boughs of her family tree, had performed tarot readings here. Some, even palm readings. 

What stories did hers have to tell? Or was that record also filled with gaps as her own mental one was? Perhaps that’s why the lines looked so fragmented. 

Jenna was mulling all of this over, as a light sound chimed from the front door, and who else, but Asra swept in.

“Jenna,” his eyes softened as he found her in the dappled light, “any such luck?”

His apprentice frowned deeply.

“No, and I’m beginning to think I never will,” Jenna sighed, “maybe my memories really are…lost for good.”

Asra regarded her for a few moments, tentative ideas flickering behind his unreadable expression.

“You know, there is something that we’ve…neglected to try.”

Jenna raised her eyebrows, all ears.

“We’ve been putting so much emphasis on recovering your magic, that it’s become heavily included in our search for your memories as well,” Asra continued, “but maybe, we need to try separating the two issues.”

“You mean try without magic?” Jenna asked, “like using medicine or something instead?”

“Something,” Asra answered, “the oldest trick in the book, to be exact. Retracing your steps.”

Asra’s poised smile suddenly cracked open into the easier one few saw but Jenna. Her puzzlement must’ve been emblazoned on her face; how could they retrace her steps when she scarcely remembered where’d she’d been in the first place?

“I can help in being your guide through where you’ve been, seeing as for most of it, I was there myself,” Asra said, perhaps reading Jenna’s mind.

Heat collected at his cheeks, and he flushed slightly. Any skepticism Jenna held for the comparatively mundane idea dissipated upon noticing this; in fact, she was suddenly restlessly interested in the steps Asra might have her retake that day. What _had_ transpired in the years Jenna was missing?

“Alright,” Jenna agreed, “we’ll try it your way.”

“Excellent,” Asra beamed.

“So, where to first?”

-

The bustle of Vesuvia’s marketplace on that warm afternoon was a welcome one, after having spent the morning in the dusky privacy of the shop. Venders shouted propositions intended to ensnare wandering eyes to their stalls, while brightly colored throw blankets hung from windows, and shaded over the crowded streets, rendering the heart of Vesuvia a fabric mosaic of artisanal tapestries. Weaving in between groups of people, Asra’s hand found Jenna’s soon after their arrival while Jenna’s teeth found the inside of her cheek, biting back the blush that threatened her face.

“Keep close,” she heard Asra murmur, “it’s busy today.”

Jenna made a small noise of agreement, as Asra towed her deeper in, the walkway narrowing considerably as it twisted through the alley of shops, crammed tightly together like books in the Palace’s impressive library.

When Asra finally came to a stop, Jenna found herself faceplanting into his back. She sprang back, finally losing the earlier battle to the red that conquered her face. The magician in front of her sent a backwards glance her way but said nothing as she hastily dispelled the memory of his fragrant scent – like incense and old books, and the how it felt to bury her nose in the sun warmed fabric of his shirt.

“This is our first stop,” Asra announced, turning to face his apprentice, “we used to frequent here often.”

Jenna blinked, her blush receding as quickly as the tide as she finally noticed where they were. The enticing aroma of baked bread wafted around them, along with the bitter tang of wine. From beneath the shade of a familiar moth bitten tapestry, the baker hadn’t noticed them yet, and continued to knead relentlessly at the mound of dough squishing beneath his grip.

“We frequent here _now_,” Jenna pointed out.

With one smack if finality, a cloud of flour erupted at the counter, dusting the baker’s face with a light snow of it. It was then that he turned upwards, grumbling as he swiped his wrist across his eyes, and smeared a window of slightly less flour that he could see out of, that he spotted his two regulars.

“Well if it isn’t my two best customers!” The baker exclaimed jovially, his soured expression evaporating instantly, “looking for a bite? I have some pumpkin bread fresh out of the oven, with your names on it.”

Asra grinned, “How can we say no to that?”

Clapping a few more lazy puffs of flour from his hands, the baker wiped them futilely against his apron as he rounded the counter, passing Asra and Jenna and waving at them to follow.

“Have a seat anywhere you’d like, I’ll fetch the bread.”

Jenna moved in to take her seat at one of the nearby empty tables, before Asra’s gentle hold on her strained. She looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“This way,” he tugged gently to a taller resting table, with two high-seated chairs on either side. It was tucked privately in what could be construed as relatively more ‘corner like’ beneath the shaded, tent-structure. “It used to be our spot, before.”

Jenna followed Asra, alien flutterings of trepidation stirring in her ribcage. She didn’t need him to specify before what exactly – that’s all her life was broken up into it seemed; the before – an unfathomable blank, and the after – her life now, as it was with Asra.

She stepped up on the lower rung of the chair to slide into her seat, grateful for Asra’s firm handhold to help guide her, before he took the seat opposite. Jenna opened her mouth to ask the question lingering at the tip of her tongue, before she snapped it shut again into a small smile, as the Baker returned with a basket of warm bread, and a decanter. Inside, wine shone like rubies in the sunlight that infiltrated the gaps between wood and fabric.

“Bread and some wine to wash it down,” the baker offered with a slight flourish.

“Thank you.”

Asra procured some coin from his satchel, before taking the baker’s hands and folding it around the payment.

“Oh, really, consider it my treat – “

“Your bread is always a treat,” Asra said warmly, shaking his hold on the baker’s hands still clasped around the gold coins.

The corner of the baker’s eyes crinkled under the force of his smile, and he could muster only a small nod, before he finally accepted the payment and returned to the counter.

Turning back to the basket of bread, Asra reached for it, and held it in offering to Jenna. She took a small loaf, before Asra took one of his own, and replaced the basket atop the table.

“So,” Jenna began, ripping a piece from the loaf, “we used to come to this shop, and sit at this table. If we’re still regulars, how come we don’t sit in our spot anymore?” 

The bread was slightly orange in color, and sweet smelling, even as she turned it in her fingers. The crust formed a warm, brittle shell, that cracked easily, making her mouth water. The inside was soft and fluffy, growing sweeter still once she popped it into her mouth..

Asra shrugged, tearing a small chunk from his own loaf. Nimble, tan fingers worried at the piece of bread, before it disappeared between his lips.

“No reason really. I guess before, when we used to come here, we just started sitting here one day. And then the next time we came, we remembered, and sat here again. And then again, and again.”

“But _after_, I had no memory of…our spot, so I didn’t sit there.”

“That’s my guess,” Asra nodded.

“Now we don’t have a spot though,” Jenna said, frowning slightly, “we always sit somewhere different.”

The corner of Asra’s mouth lifted slightly, and he took another bite, chewing pensively.

“You just don’t seem to gravitate to that sort of habit anymore. I’d hardly expect you to be _exactly_ the same after losing your memories – I don’t think anyone would be. I don’t think anyone is,” his soft hued eyes seemed to cloud reminiscently, thoughts briefly straying from their time at the shop to meander elsewhere. Jenna studied his face, who else, she wondered, had he lost years with? And were they able to get them back? The somberness in her teacher’s expression suggested not.

Maybe that was just it; if someone’s life made them who they were, and she was missing a large chunk of that, perhaps she could never be who she was before again. Who was she? Who is she now? 

On one hand, life was peaceful as it was. She had the shop, she had Asra and her magic. Still though, the idea of losing a part of herself that now resided like a ghost – and haunted her most similarly, made her feel achingly empty. It wasn’t a past version of Jenna she was unwilling to part with, it was a piece of what made the current one, that she was searching for.

“As for having a spot though,” Asra’s voice intercepted her train of thought, his voice as light as the pleasant breeze gracing Vesuvia that day, “you don’t need to worry about that. This will _always_ be our spot.”

They left the bakery after making light conversation over the remainder of their meal; like they would have in the before. Still though, the gap in Jenna’s memories remained as wide as it ever had been. Occasionally, her fingers brushed against his when reaching for the glass decanter. She blushed each time, her gaze sliding just beneath his inquiring one before he decidedly said nothing about it.

Upon leaving the bakery to continue down the winding streets of Vesuvia, they joined hands again, and this time, it felt different. Like Asra’s fingers gripped her just a bit tighter, and she swore he could feel her racing pulse thrum when their wrists brushed. Choked by the onslaught of these observations, Jenna said nothing, but kept a light smile plastered on her face to let Asra know she was enjoying her time with him. It tightened in the way she hoped he was enjoying it too.

When they reached the heart of Vesuvia, where the cramped downtown area opened up into a wide, cobblestone courtyard, complete with statues arranged in a symmetrical array, and a fountain in the middle, something was obviously going on. There were more townsfolk than usual, all adorned in especially bright clothes. Nearly everyone was draped in fine, silk scarves and had flowers woven into their hair. For once, Asra blended right in, with his own whimsical trappings. Flower vendors could be seen around, selling varieties of blooms for those who thought to arrive underdressed, like Jenna and Asra. He rectified this as the flocking of townspeople more centerfold captured Jenna’s attention. 

Jenna rolled up onto her tiptoes and craned her neck to try and get a better look. Between rows of heads, she could spot a motley crew of magicians, dressed equally as extravagantly, as well as the quick, swooping motion of dancers as they played.

When Jenna finally tore her eyes from the festive scene, Asra had rematerialized at her side, this time with a few lilac blossoms tucked amongst his own wily curls, and a few golden ones in hand. Jenna couldn’t help but grin at this; he looked like a fairy or a sprite with his astonishing white hair, while the flora added an almost mythical quality to him.

“You’ve returned bearing gifts,” Jenna remarked.

“So I have,” Asra replied, humor dancing in his eyes, “for you,” he waved the blooms in his hands in presentation. 

Before Jenna could reach for them, Asra was already threading them artfully into the crown of her head. Vicious crimson rose in her cheeks and her gaze fell bashfully to her toes. The short, green stalk of one of the flowers grazed her cheek as Asra positioned it behind her ear, holding back a dark curtain of hair. She grew redder still, feeling exposed without the safety of her brown curls framing her face.

She felt the weight of the few other blossoms catching in the skillfully woven snarls at various other points on her head, and only when she felt the almost ticklish rustling cease, did she hazard a look at the magician through her eyelashes. His own cheeks had collected a derivative of the vermillion she donned, but he was grinning proudly at her, arms crossed, surveying his handywork.

“I knew it; marigold suits you,”

“Thanks,” Jenna’s voice was soft. 

Whatever was happening here, whatever lingered between them was so new, so fragile, that she all but held her breath in fear she might dash it away.

“Most everything does though,” Asra corrected himself before shooting Jenna a playful wink.

With both of them properly outfitted to blend in with the other townsfolk, they pressed through the tightly packed crowd until they were standing on the fringe of the masses; standing atop the thin line that separated spectators and dancers. 

Jenna felt her face heat again before she even looked at Asra, and when she did, he was already holding out his hand in offering.

“We danced together a couple of times before – the Count loved his parties, you know, and we were always forced to atte- ah, invited, I mean.”

Actually, she wouldn’t know. The Count was just another detail that disappeared in the swirling fog of the before. By the time Jenna awoke, he had already been dead. What she did know though, was that she trusted Asra, and so she didn’t even have to think before accepting his outstretched hand, letting the warmth of his palm against hers guide her before the scrutiny of the Vesuvian masses.

Despite the discomfort of the limelight, Jenna found herself enjoying it as she and Asra twisted and leapt, broke apart and met again. The material of her light, summer tunic fluttered around her, and she caught glimpses of it flow out around them like wings whenever Asra twirled her in his arms. 

The way they moved together was magnetic; fluid as Asra was in catching her, she was scarcely out of his reach for long. For every moment they spent apart, they spent three together when they reunited. Their skin sang for each other, snapping back together in contact like some innate forces relentlessly pulled them together. And in a way, they did.

Jenna pushed herself into Asra’s grasp, feeling the heat of his skin, the molten amethyst in his eyes, and his singed breath fan her cheek. 

They stood there for a few moments, breathing heavily from exertion and looking at each other, the weights of their loaded gazes, equally as heavy. Around them, the crowd of huddled spectators erupted into enthusiastic applause; but the rippled affirmation fell on deaf ears. It was a different sort of magic, the sort that didn’t require a magician in order for the spell to be effective; a spell Asra and Jenna were both unknowingly under, and it sent them to a world a million miles away despite how they appeared just a few feet away from everyone else.

Jenna had to be the one to ground them back to reality, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck prickle at the hushed murmurs that had started to infiltrate their special realm. It had been a couple of minutes now since the dance ended, and yet, neither of them had so much as acknowledged it.

“That was…” she trailed off breathily.

It wasn’t so much that she hadn’t caught her breath by now, so much as that the look Asra was giving her at that moment made a habit of snatching it away, again and again.

“It was,” Asra agreed whole heartedly, “but our quest is far from over.”

Jenna’s heart raced as she watched Asra twist out of his final pose, maneuvering so that now he could start off in a direction and take Jenna with, all the while keeping her hand firmly in his.

-

They arrived at the community theater as people milled about outside. As Asra and Jenna passed through the front door, they spotted the good Doctor Devorak’s likeness printed on a poster beside it, with _Count Lucio’s Lovers_ printed in a flamboyant font at the top. The prominent nose and eyepatch looked proud from where Jenna stood, and she was grateful that his signature red curls were covered in an imitation blonde wig that bested its original. 

“Ilya looks barely recognizable there as Lucio,” Asra commented as if he’d been reading her mind.

“I forgot he had a penchant for drama. Did we see him in plays often?”

Asra thought about that for a little bit.

“We saw a few shows,” he finally said, “and Ilya happened to star in most of them.”

Jenna laughed, knowing well that Asra would take caution not to feed Julian’s ego, even when he wasn’t in their company.

They found their seats as the houselights began to dim. The heavy, red, velvet curtain was pulled open, and Julian stood on stage, front and center, his back to the audience so that they got a good look at his white uniform, and regal cloak, lined with the fur of a creature Jenna was sure she’d never find near Vesuvia. 

Julian turned suddenly as the spotlight smiled on him, flipping his cloak around his form dramatically.

“_What is it to be adored?_” he asked in an affected manner, sweeping his hand out towards the audience.

Jenna heard a restrained noise from beside her and found Asra had pressed a knuckle to his mouth, just barely keeping a laugh at bay. The folds of one of his scarves twitched, and Faust poked her head out, her master’s voice when he couldn’t trust his own.

Jenna heard the familiar’s thoughts vividly in her head, and while she knew no one else but Asra could, she couldn’t help but risk a glance around the darkened theater, to see if anyone else had noticed the commentary as well.

_Joke, _Faust chirped, before disappearing into Asra’s clothes again.

Meanwhile on the stage, several gaudily dressed women stood beside Julian, fanning themselves coyly, and tittering amongst themselves.

“_Ladies, it is unduly unfair that there is but one of me, and yet an abundance of you_,” Julian brought the back of his hand up to linger pitifully at his forehead, “_but fear not – I have an infinite amount of love to give!_”

Jenna found herself biting back a grin of her own at this, and one of the women on stage swooned loudly before collapsing into “The Count’s” arms.

Jenna leaned closer to Asra, “Do you suppose Nadia’s seen this yet?”

“I sincerely hope not.”

“Otherwise she might resurrect the Count, just to send him to his grave again?”

Asra let out a yelp of a laugh before his hand was back at his lips, his shoulders shaking with silent mirth. Jenna found herself laughing as quietly as she could too. When someone sitting behind them ‘sshhh’ed tersely, Asra and Jenna sunk deeper into their seats, laughing still.

The play continued on much the same; Julian did the Count terribly righteous justice, in his tawdry provocativeness. Suitors of all sorts crossed the stage, vying for Julian’s affections, to which he might toy with long enough to give some sort of self-indulgent monologue, before eventually relenting, and ‘bestowing some of the Count’s love’ unto the suitor. If the same actor was double casted, Jenna would never know it; the costumes were all different, generous in detail, and gave off the impression that despite the most singular lead, helmed by Julian, there lay a large, diverse cast – Lucios’s lovers, as it were.

Eventually, much to their surprise, a woman, carrying an air of much more quiet dignity than the others in the cast, floated across the stage in ornate silks. A second spotlight beamed at her, revealing long tendrils of violet hair. 

Jenna and Asra exchanged scandalized looks – so Nadia _had_ been made into a character as well.

Unlike the other lady suitors, stage-Nadia did not blush, or swoon, nor did she sashay or vie for Julian’s attention. A visual imitation that would wilt if caught standing beside the real Nadia, this one was still above begging for the Count’s affections. She stood on her own, and so it was Julian who crossed the stage to join hands with her.

“_I know what it is to be adored. But to do the adoring, is a most unparalleled thing indeed, especially with respect to a lady such as yourself_.” 

Jenna resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The real Nadia would’ve been bored with such blatantly, honeyed pretenses. 

Still though, she found herself inching onto the edge of her seat, as Julian dropped to one knee.

“_I would fight for you, kill for you, lie, steal, die, and try for you. All of these things and more._”

Jenna swallowed; her throat tight. She squirmed in her seat, and somewhere in the dark, something gripped her hand. 

“_My heart doesn’t just beat for you, my heart beats because of you. It is as much yours, as it is mine, or maybe less mine still._”

The tightness at her throat intensified with the rush of heat that flooded her face. She hazarded a look to Asra’s seat and found that his eyes were trained intently on Julian and stage-Nadia. From the haze of light that petered out into their row, Jenna could also see Asra’s fingers threaded through her own. 

They held hands many times – this was not new, Jenna thought, trying to tame the crimson that suffused rampantly at her cheeks. Asra dragged his thumb tenderly across the back of Jenna’s hand. 

There was no risk of being lost in the crowd here though. In fact, he seemed lost in something else entirely. 

-

Found again, the walk from the theater after the show was a quiet one, punctuated occasionally by the spare remark about the production’s earlier ridiculousness. Neither of them spoke of the abrupt seriousness that arose once Nadia’s character had made her entrance. Despite the familiar anchor of their palms pressed flat against one another, fingers threaded, they scarcely seemed to be in the same place at all. The events of the theatrical abomination that was _Count Lucio’s Lovers, _had left both of their minds reeling somewhere far, far away.

_It is as much yours, as it is mine, or maybe less mine still._

The words echoed in Jenna’s head, and she felt them pulse through her, resounding so deeply she could feel it in her marrow. Was that Asra’s too?

“I hadn’t realized we’d come this far,”

Jenna startled at the suddenness of Asra’s voice in the wake of a heady silence. He was glancing around at her surroundings, which she noticed, were significantly less grand than they had been by the theater and plaza. Now, ragged apartments were stacked high like old blocks, and when they looked up, the expanse of swirling stars and cosmos was broken up by lines of drying clothes, rustling like raven’s feathers, and melting into the darkness as night fell. The cobblestones beneath their feet had turned to wood, somewhere along the way, and the wide streets, had turned to a thin, rickety boardwalk, edging on dark water that smelled as dank as the neighborhood looked.

“I’ve never been to this side of town,” Jenna murmured, eyeing the narrow ally they passed, “at least not that I can remember.”

Asra looked thoughtful.

“We may have come here once – that I’m sure of, but we didn’t frequent here, that’s for sure.”

Looking about, Jenna could see why. She didn’t think anyone other than the inhabitants Lucio had been all too happy to neglect, were regulars here.

“Before…all of this, and…well, even before I had met you for the very first time, Muriel and I lived in an area similar to this,”

Jenna looked at Asra. She knew very little about who he was before her. Hell, she knew very little about him before she woke up and saw his face looming before hers, ready to introduce her back to her life. It had been a couple of years since then.

“We lived closer to the beach area, but near the wharf still.”

“Where were your parents?”

“Gone.”

His face was still casual, impassive, and she felt his hand squeeze reassuringly at hers, but the tone in his voice told Jenna not to press further. 

“Then, it’s good that you had each other,” her voice softened, and she held him tightly, as if to tell him, _you have me too_.

Asra squeezed back, and the resulting rhythm was reminiscent of a heartbeat. 

They walked on for a little bit longer, in a pleasant quiet in which the only sounds were the soothing tap of their footsteps on wood. Asra lulled them to a gentle stop when he spotted a makeshift outcrop, where it looked like longer planks of wood had snapped off at some point, and which proved convenient for the gondoliers to find harbor in until a patron came upon them.

As it were, Asra and Jenna were such patrons.

“Fancy a boat ride?”

“Sure,”

By the time Asra had rummaged through his bag, procured an agreed upon payment (a conch shell of unnatural vibrancy with jewels encrusted in it), and managed to get them boarded, night had fallen heavily, the lingering dribbles of afternoon orange completely void from the deep blue sky.

Jenna watched with interest as Asra, not the gondolier, grabbed the oar and pushed off from the makeshift dock, as the gondolier studied his payment with wide, beholding eyes.

“You’re driving?” Jenna asked, surprised.

“He looked like he could use a well-deserved break,” Asra said, smiling wryly.

Jenna didn’t press further, though she took note of the knowing glimmer in his eyes. While she was sure the gondolier did deserve a break, she was surer still that this had not been Asra’s only motivation.

They chattered lightly from there, talking of the prettiness of the moon (and not acknowledging the prettiness of their partner, though their lowered gazes and stolen looks told otherwise), and speaking of the ease of their day; Jenna was contented, and if truth be told, she hadn’t given a thought to her foggy memories since the theater.

When Asra set the oar down, and sat, his knees brushed against Jenna’s in the boat’s crampedness. Jenna flushed brightly but didn’t recoil.

“So, do you remember anything?”

A pang went through Jenna’s chest, like the note on a tuning fork as it turned sour. Her eyes stung faintly, and though there were no tears, she blinked anyways, as if erasing the mere notion from her eyelashes.

“Today was wonderful,” she said quietly, her eyes alight, “I got to do some of my favorite things, with my favorite person.”

Asra smile shone, like moonlight on water, fragments of light cutting into the sharp, glassy water, and emanating radiance. 

“As perfect as today was though… no, I still don’t remember anything.”

His hand came to rest on hers, squeezing gently, as if trying to instill reassurance into her.

“That’s alright, Vesuvia certainly wasn’t built in a day. This just gives us more excuses to have a day out on the town.”

Jenna smiled faintly, the idea of having more days like this certainly appealing to her. Jenna’s free hand came up to rest atop the hand that was on hers, sufficiently sandwiching Asra in a soft grasp.

“Or maybe I just don’t get my memories back at all. Not in the…sense we’re trying for, anyways,” she turned her eyes to his, and he saw nothing but warmth there; bittersweet, and unsoured by the day’s ultimate failure, “Today _felt_ familiar, like maybe I’ve lived a ton of others sort of like it. The entire time, I felt safe, like even with all the places we went, I never really left home. And then when we danced –“

Asra’s white eyebrows flew up, “You felt that too?”

“Like we’d met that away a thousand times before,” Jenna murmured.

“and will meet the same way, a thousand times again,” Asra finished.

The space between them seemed to ignite, though neither of them could see any flames.

His face was hovering just a few inches in front of hers before Jenna even had the chance to process, he’d drawn nearer. His tanned skin was dyed an opalescent white from rays of moonlight as it rained down from the sky and refracted off the river. His warm breath singed her cheeks as it curled around her, still smelling faintly sweet, like the pumpkin bread and wine they’d shared earlier. Jenna was so taken by it, feeling comfort and tasting the air where he’d lingered, that it felt as if she blinked and then suddenly his lips were moving softly against hers, his tongue slipping coaxingly into her mouth.

Jenna knew as Asra kissed her that they had strayed from their mission all day. Surely, this wasn’t a well-traveled path for her; if she’d had a kiss like this with _anyone_ before, she was certain she’d remember.

Vesuvia seemed to dissipate around them, the Palace, Nadia, Julian in that dreadful wig – everything disappeared outside their small boat, bobbing quietly in the night, and the rather large going-on happening inside.

Jenna’s heart felt as if it might burst in her chest; it was then she’d realize she’d been withholding her breath, and it was with that realization it spilled from her mouth in a fatigued gasp. Her shaky hands found the loose fabric of Asra’s scarves and shirt, and tunneled into them in an attempt to find a firm hold on him to anchor herself too. Her breath was thieved again as her fingers unwittingly found the warm skin of his torso.

With the spark that leapt at that contact, Jenna gave up on trying to find order as fireworks spangled across the insides of her eyelids. She let herself lean in to Asra, focusing only on the feeling of his mouth against hers, and the way his fingers caught at her upper arms, preventing herself from careening overboard and into the inky water. 

Asra’s mouth moved firmly, his neck bent tactically to ensure the greatest pleasure on both of their parts; not that this was terribly difficult for him. His fingers drifted upwards from Jenna’s shoulders, trailing gently up her neck, and earning a deep shudder from his partner, before his hands slid into her hair, and knitted behind her head, bringing her even closer, as if she were a sip of wine to savor.

All too soon and after eternity has passed at that, Asra pulled away, his hands smoothing downwards into a steadying grasp at her shoulders. He pulled back to survey her with clouded, lilac eyes and then he leaned in to kiss her again, before retreating. He repeated this once more. Then, once again, occasionally nuzzling his nose against hers, or letting his teeth graze her bottom lip. Jenna gasped, feeling herself sway from the reverberating force of what had just overtaken them.

It really was a good thing he was holding onto her.

Then, as if Jenna was not still reeling from the high of their shared kiss, it hit her. Or rather, _they_ hit her; a flurry of images racing through her mind, leaving breadcrumbs of colors and people, sounds and smells, in their wake.

Jenna froze, her eyes wide, lips falling agape. Asra, taken aback at her catatonic state, waited. The shock, the confusion, the distance; her mind was obviously elsewhere, and he had a feeling about _when_ that was.

Whoever described seeing their life played back to them like some sort of moving picture had never regained deeply, subconsciously guarded memories. There was nothing cohesive or chronological about it; just snapshots, like phantoms of her past passing her by with a parting touch on the shoulder here, a whiff of someone’s hair there.

The rich purples and velveteen reds of the trappings in the shop, Ilya, Asra, and herself poring over books in the Palace’s library, the babble of water from the garden’s ornate fountain, and most vividly of all, the spicy, herbal scent of Asra swirling around her, with his lips at hers.

Perhaps this memory was the strongest because it was most similar to what Jenna had just experienced, but she was sure that the kiss, or rather, kisses her memory had shown her was not the same one as the one they’d just shared. Same white hair, same quivering honesty, but different places. Some were happier than others – pleasantly mundane, like the first of a forever of kisses they’d share in their lives, others were more desperate – perhaps what was thought to be the last they might ever get.

When Jenna returned to Asra again, his eyes searched hers, looking for distress, but what he found instead, was a look reminiscent of someone who’s kissed him a thousand times before, and someone who’d kiss him a thousand times more.

“Oh,” she breathes.

Asra breaks out into a wide smile.

“Welcome back.”


End file.
